“Your nose isfine,” he said, exasperated. “I wouldn’t know anyways my nose isn’t real.”
“Just fine?” I teased, leaning closer. “I thought I was your favorite client.”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Yesoh, I’mbeggingyou. Stop overanalyzing your nose and finish your water.”
“Wait did you just say you have a nose job—” I gasped,
“I broke it when I was a kid, had to have surgery and when I came out it was different.” He explained.
I traced my curious finger over the bridge of his nose and his eyes followed, “Baby Wynter has the most insane lore. Your surgeon did a phenomenal job though holy shit.”
“Oh you have no idea.” He assured me.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he glanced at it. “It’s Sydney,” he said, reading the message. “She says she and Remi are staying at Jax’s tonight.”
And then his cheeks flushed and I narrowed my eyes at him “What is it?”
“I— uh nothing.” He cleared his throat.
“Just tell me!”
“She also said she has condoms in the box under her bed.” He whispered not meeting my gaze.
“Sydney is so silly!” I giggled leaning back. “She seriously thinks we’re like fucking right now?”
“Yesoh.” He warned at my harsh language pressing his tongue to his cheek. “Enough.”
“Ohhhh,” I said, dragging out the word. “That means it’s just you and me. We could… play Scrabble.”
“Go to sleep, Yesoh.”
“Or Monopoly. Or truth or dare!”
Wynter shook his head, standing up. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen. Don’t move.”
When he came back, I took the pills without protest, watching him as he set up a makeshift bed on the floor beside me.
As I leaned against the mattress, the room tilted dangerously, and my stomach churned in protest. I groaned, clutching my middle.
“Wynter,” I muttered weakly. “I think I’m gonna—”
“Hold on,” he said quickly, his voice sharp with focus. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and placed it over his lap.
“What… what are you doing?” I blinked at him, my voice incredulous even as my head spun.
“A precaution,” he said matter-of-factly, crouching in front of me. His hands hovered near my shoulders as if ready to steady me. “My jacket is twelve thousand dollars.”
“You were just gonna let me throw up on you?”
“If I had to,” he said, his eyes calm and unwavering, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I stared at him, torn between horror and bewilderment. “You’re like, actually insane.”
“And you’re drunk,” he replied. “Now, do you need the bin or are you gonna be okay?”
The wave of nausea ebbed, and I pushed myself back, breathing heavily. “I think… I think it’s passing,” I managed.
He nodded, but didn’t move the towel. “Good. But let me know if it comes back.”
